It’s said that every theater is inhab-
ited by at least one ghost, and contrary to 
legends propagated by Halloween, these 
ghosts do not like the dark. Thus, when the 
curtain falls and a theater’s house empties, 
an employee will leave a light — a ghost 
light — to burn onstage until the performers 
return. Across the world, ghost lights have 
remained on and untouched for months. But 
the lives of performers continue offstage, 
each day adding pressure to find perfor-
mance spaces on digital platforms. What 
happens when the ghost lights keep burning 
and we’re left with a stage wholly mediated 
by posts, shares, comments and likes? 
In a utopian alternate reality of a world 
without coronavirus, this week would 
have been quite historic for American 
Ballet Theater. Dancers Misty Copeland 
and Calvin Royal III were scheduled to 
become the first black artists at ABT 
to headline the archetypal love story 
“Romeo and Juliet” together. The casting 
would have been the newest in the ballet 
world’s glacially slow-moving progress 
toward a more diverse stage. Copeland 
recently told ABT Trustee Emerita Susan 
Fales-Hill that when social distancing 
necessities dissipate, the performance 
will have the potential to shift an audi-
ence’s perspective on black love, elabo-
rating that “I just think it’s going to blow 
people’s minds just by seeing two brown 
bodies in this romantic, passionate young 
love that has nothing to do with the color 
of our skin.” 
The specialness of this potential should 
not be minimized — quite frankly, the 
mere fact that ABT has two black danc-
ers high enough in its ranks to cast such 

major roles makes the company far ahead 
of many others. In 2015, Copeland became 
the first ever black female principal danc-
er at any major international company and 
since then, the success stories have been 
few and far between. 
Ballet’s history is fraught with racial 
prejudice. For generations, the art form 
was emblematic of a white aristocracy 
that firmly denied access to audiences and 
dancers of color. It began in the courts of 
Italy and was later codified by King Louis 
XIV of France in the 17th century. These 
blue-blooded beginnings helped support 
an aura of elitism that continues to hinder 
ballet’s potential for growth from racial 
and socioeconomic standpoints. Today, 
ballet’s lack of diversity is fed by ugly ste-
reotypes of black artists’ supposed lack of 
grace, and its expensive point of entry can 
make it hard for new talent to break these 
boundaries — one estimate projected that 
a dancer-in-training will need at least 
$100,000 before reaching the possibil-
ity of a professional audition. This reality 
creates a world that continues to exclude 
and oppress dancers of color. 
This oppression is currently backlit by a 
country enveloped by protests against the 
recent murders of George Floyd, Ahmaud 
Arbery and Breonna Taylor. Activists and 
Instagram users alike continue to use 
these crimes as platforms to talk about 
the importance of fighting racial injus-
tice at every level — ballet may be far 
removed from police brutality, but the art 
form remains at the center of many sys-
tems of white privilege that also enable 
the perpetuation of racism in America 
and beyond. The layers of that privilege 
run far deeper than just casting, but the 
stage is almost always where choreogra-
phers, teachers and directors get their 
start. Changing the racial makeup of a 

I sat in our firewood-scented Wisconsin cabin 
and stared at a Zoom video conference call meant 
to resemble my friend Stephany’s 19th birthday 
party. College friends, childhood friends, room-
mates and classmates were fit awkwardly together 
like puzzle pieces on my computer screen, patient-
ly awaiting the birthday girl’s arrival. We made 
conversation and exchanged niceties like business 
colleagues might do, offering a “what’s everyone 
been up to?” when the silence grew to be par-
ticularly uncomfortable. Finally, Stephany’s sweet 
face entered the Zoom call and we launched into a 
timidly performed rendition of “Happy Birthday,” 
single voices freezing here and there as Zoom’s lag 
emphasized the inherently awkward nature of the 
festivity.
Like what many others in Generation Z, more 
recently labeled as “Generation Zoom,” have expe-
rienced, Steph’s birthday party was the umpteenth 
Zoom event I had attended since first submit-
ting to self-quarantine in mid-March. Virtual cast 
reunions, get-togethers and club meetings meant 
that Zoom has become my new and sole place for 
social gathering. With other Gen Zers frequenting 
the platform to participate in religious services, 
movie viewings, club parties and even drinking 
games, college students have fully immersed them-
selves in this new form of digital socialization. 
Seemingly overnight, self-proclaimed “quar-
anteens” traded in sweaty bar crawls and packed 
house parties for Zoom links and Facebook events. 
Throughout the month of March, a new genre 
of Zoom-centered Facebook groups including 
one called “Zoom Hangouts for Self Quranteens” 
introduced such events like “4/20 on ZOOM” 
and “Zoom Bingo” to those searching for con-
nection while quarantined. One Facebook event 
called “How many ppl can we get in a zoom call in 
a week” appealed to those lonely, socially starved 
Gen Zers searching for a place to meet new peo-
ple, play drinking games and commiserate over 
COVID-19.
But on March 25, this desperate pursuit of 
human connection proved to extend beyond 
Zoom Bingo nights and virtual parties when stu-
dents flocked to an online dating website called 
thezoomuniversity.com to find love. Co-founded 
by USC graduates Leor Massachi and Daniel 
Newman, the initial idea behind the website was 
to organize video double dates to combat the “...
unprecedented levels of loneliness” Newman and 
Massachi knew college students were experienc-
ing during quarantine. After going viral on TikTok, 
the website attracted tens of thousands of users 
hailing from colleges all over the country. Soon, 
the website servers crashed and Massachi and 
Newman scrambled to meet the romantic needs 
of thousands of quarantined students.

7

Thursday, June 4, 2020
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com ARTS

On whiteness in ballet

Dating via 
video chat

Read more at michigandaily.com

ZOE PHILLIPS
Daily Arts Writer

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ballet’s performance thus has the long-
term potential to shape the entire indus-
try going forward.
Misty Copeland is perhaps the loudest 
voice in this fight today — even before her 
official promotion, Copeland’s status as 
a powerful black ballerina changed the 
landscape of ballet audiences. In 2014, she 
became a spokesperson for Under Armour 
and broke out of ballet’s insular bubble in 
a way that few dancers ever have. Cope-
land pushed the ballet community to see 
the importance of growth and became the 
face of ballet’s progressive fans. Never-
theless, she is not the only voice out there: 
ABT’s Erica Lal and Calvin Royal III, 
Houston Ballet’s Harper Watters, Wash-
ington Ballet’s Nardia Boodoo and Dance 
Theatre of Harlem’s Daphne Lee are all 
beautiful voices to listen to. Lee recently 
told her followers, “We could cripple this 
country. We could also elevate it in ways 
we haven’t done before.” 
Copeland and Royal III’s performance 
of “Romeo and Juliet” would have been 
special for its elevation of ballet’s pos-
sibilities: They were both eager to show 
the world a new face on an old story. This 
excitement is melancholic in context 
of the uncertain future of live perfor-
mance, but both express confidence that 
this groundbreaking show will happen 
one day. Their conviction is an optimistic 
reflection of how far the ballet world has 
come, yet the mere necessity of delaying 
such a milestone in 2020, especially this 
week, underscores how much further it 
needs to go. 
In the wake of these events, ballet com-
panies are also taking stances — Lincoln 
Center cancelled this week’s scheduled 
live streams in honor of the Blackout 
Tuesday media initiative under the grow-
ing 
hashtag 
#TheShowMustBePaused. 
Last Sunday, ABT joined the also-growing 
#BalletRelevesForBlackLives initiative to 
address the racism lingering in the ballet 
industry. A réleve is a step in which the 
dancer pulls their body up onto the ball 
of their foot or the top of the pointe shoe. 
The simple yet powerful step is the back-
bone of many of ballet’s most important 
movements. In essence, these companies 
are pledging to step up, to grow and to lift 
their world into a more racially equitable 
tomorrow. 
The sentiment is quite beautiful: By 
hiring more black dancers, those dancers 
then have the opportunities to grow into 
choreographers, teachers and directors. 
The pledge has the potential to change 
the future of this art form, but only if 
these companies follow through on their 
words. Just like a réleve itself, change 
requires strength that comes from long 
stretches of active perseverance — words 
and hashtags are only the trailhead of a 
steep road of effort. Also like a réleve, that 
road needs to become the backbone of this 
industry if real change is to be enacted. 
Black lives and black dancers must matter 
today, tomorrow and forever to come. 

GRACE TUCKER 
Daily Arts Writer

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